


Inquietum Mortuus

by Avirra



Series: The Waverly Tales [7]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avirra/pseuds/Avirra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Waverly awakens to the world in 1977 and must deal with the unpleasant changes that have occurred while he was in a coma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inquietum Mortuus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 3/19/13 PicFic Tuesday challenge.

The cemetery looked ancient, but some of the shorter stones were of a newer vintage. A thick woolen blanket was tucked snuggly around the old man in the wheelchair as his doctor slowly pushed the chair along the narrow stone path. Ireland? Scotland? Or some other spot that bore some resemblances to those places? The old man couldn't be sure and the holes in his memory were getting more annoying by the minute. No-one observing him would know that, however. His outer features were placid. Accepting.

Regardless of appearances, Alexander Waverly's eyes had a slight bit of difficultly focusing - something he attributed more to something running through his veins than to his eyesight. Still, he could make out the last names on the stones well enough. Dancer, Slate, Solo and Kuryakin. He leaned forward a bit - all had the same date of death - February 23, 1974. Except for Solo. His date of death was two days past the others.

Seeing the way Mister Waverly was looking at the dates, the doctor cleared his throat and spoke.

"Mister Kuryakin died instantly. He was in the process of approaching the bomb to try and disarm it when it went off. Mister Slate and Miss Dancer had tried to shield you and succeeded for the most part. Mister Slate died in route to the hospital, Miss Dancer died on the operating table. Mister Solo was shielding Mrs. Waverly. She escaped with the fewest injuries, but Mister Solo never regained consciousness and died two days after the explosion."

"I still don't recall a thing past 1968."

"I'm afraid with a traumatic head injury such as you suffered, that you may never regain all of your memories, sir."

"Yes, I suppose. A bit unsettling to lose those years with my wife though. Why are they all buried here?"

"That was your wife's doing, sir. She bought a family plot after she found that neither Mister Solo or Mister Kuryakin had family remaining to claim their bodies. Mister Slate and Miss Dancer's family members didn't claim their remains either, so she arranged for them all to be buried here together.

The doctor pushed the chair a bit further to the newest stone in the row. Millicent Waverly - born January 1, 1900, died January 2, 1977.

"My wife passed away just two months ago then?"

"I'm afraid so. She held on a good long time. Spent the majority of it by your bedside."

Something about the whole affair was not settling right with Waverly, but the medication still in his system might have something to do with that. Unwilling to write off his instincts on that, he decided to probe a bit.

"I imagine that you and my wife must have spoken a great deal over the years."

"Oh yes indeed, Mister Waverly. Millie and I became quite close over time. She had a very kind soul."

"Oh yes, yes she did. So, I believe you were saying that getting back around places that I do still recall might help me regain some of those lost memories?"

"That sort of thing has been quite successful with other patients, sir. I have already been in touch with the current Number One of Section One in the New York office and he has no objections so long as it is only you and myself doing the visiting. We will go into headquarters as you normally do and then we will see where your memories will lead you."

"Ah yes. I'm sure you were thoroughly vetted when you were assigned to my long-term care."

"Quite thoroughly. Your wife was quite insistent."

"I can imagine. Dear Millie always was a force of her own. I am recovered enough to travel by plane again?"

"A chartered flight has been arranged and, since I will be with you to monitor your health, I expect that everything should go smoothly."

"Very well. Tell me, I know that I've been in care for three years and many things have changed, but do you still have my wallet and my other possessions? Memories really. That seems to be all that are left to me."

"Of course. We go back inside and I'll fetch them for you. I expect you'll want to pack them away for the trip. Your weapon will have to travel in a secure case while in transit."

"Yes, yes - of course."

The doctor wheeled the chair back inside and pulled over a small table before bringing over a small basket of items. Mister Waverly picked up the communicator pen and turned it over in his hands.

"I can recall when the first of these were given to our people. Should be interesting to see what they've come up with now."

Dropping it back among the other items, he reached for his wallet next, opening it to the pictures.

"There's my girl. I shall miss her terribly. I don't have a great deal to pack, do I?"

"Not really, Mister Waverly. The clothing you wore at the time were ruined, but we've purchased a set of clothing for you to travel in."

"I'm sure whatever it is will suffice. However, I fear that this small bit of activity has fatigued me."

"We'll get you settled back down for a nap then, sir. Plenty of time to finish getting ready to leave."

It was near midnight when the attack came on the small clinic. Mister Waverly listened to the shots and kept a close eye on the door to his room. He was briefly blinded by the light as the door opened.

"Napoleon! He is here!"

"Mister Kuryakin. A pleasure to hear your voice from beyond the grave."

"Sir?"

"A rather involved scheme on THRUSH's part, Mister Kuryakin. The day and date, if you please?"

"Tuesday - March 19, 1968, sir."

"Three days then. Quite preferable to three years. Ah, Mister Solo. Are we ready to depart?"

"We have this satrip under control, Mister Waverly. Are you hurt, sir?"

"Weak perhaps, but I believe that is more due to the drugs in my system than to any actual ailments."

"We can leave whenever you're ready. Mrs. Waverly has been quite anxious ever since the emergency signal in your communicator went off."

"I can well imagine. My Millicent has many virtues, however, her patience is not one of them when family is involved, I fear. You gentlemen can thank her later for helping me see through their ruse despite the current fuzziness of my thoughts. The young man pretending to be my doctor had everything well thought out except for his lack of knowledge about how much my dear wife despises the nickname of Millie Of the things that might have changed during my supposed coma, I knew that would not be one of them."

All heads turned toward the door as April and Mark appeared there, looking a bit shaken.

"Napoleon - Illya. Did you know we're all buried outside?"

"Come again, April?"

"Might I take it that is what you meant by hearing me beyond the grave, Mister Waverly?"

"Quite right, Mister Kuryakin. Since 1974 is still a few years away, I think we can discount those tombstones for now, don't you?"

"1974? Talk about premature burials."

"Let us be gone. And be careful where you step. It is supposed to be bad luck to step on one's own grave."

"Normally, I don't worry about superstitions. But why take chances?"

"Why indeed, Mister Solo. Let's not keep Millicent waiting.""


End file.
